


Bloodfeather

by Siobhane



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mild Gore, Mind Control, Opposite Day, Science Fiction, everyone is ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:49:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhane/pseuds/Siobhane
Summary: After the final battle, Squall wakes in Esthar to a world he does not recognize. He is informed the entire journey was a hallucination caused by a malfunction between the nanocomputer implanted in his brain and the mainframe, RI-NOA, an AI which guides his activities and assists with his missions as an Esthari soldier. But if was all just a hallucination, why did it feel so real?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilentStarlightSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentStarlightSky/gifts).



> This is a repost, since my original account was deleted by accident a while back.
> 
> If you haven't read it before, expect nearly everyone to be out of character. I wrote them that way on purpose, for reasons. 
> 
> Title comes from a song of the same name by Highly Suspect. Look it up if you're so inclined. It's a great song and the lyrics fit.

Squall surveyed the stone bridge and the boiling sky above. Beyond the door, Ultimecia waited.

This was it.

No going back now.

The others exchanged magic and checked their junctions, but Squall turned away to face the young woman who changed his life for the better. However short that life may be.

She was a pain in the ass. Stubborn. Hard-headed. Impulsive. A little naive. Reckless. She wore her heart on her sleeve and said exactly what was on her mind.

She was the sort of person Squall steered clear of.

He loved her anyway.

If he died today, at least he could say he knew what that felt like.

It was _awful_.

And good, and wonderful, and nothing short of miraculous.

He offered his hand and she accepted. They stood apart from the rest, but the team noticed. Squall pretended he didn't notice them noticing.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "I feel like I'm about to jump into a pool of sharks."

"Expect this to be a lot worse," he said.

"Boy, I bet you're fun at parties."

"I don't -" he began and then sighed. "Sorry. You were looking for a different answer."

"Yeah," she said. "Something more like... _No sweat. We'll kick her ass!_ "

"Hmm. Try Zell," he said. "Pep-talks more his area of expertise."

She stepped closer and squeezed his hand.

"You've done pretty well so far," she said. "Considering."

Now or never. This might be his last chance.

He took her face between his palms, brushed his gloved thumbs over her cheeks and willed himself to be brave.

"Rin, I..."

The last two words died on his tongue. He could not make himself say it, no matter how much he wanted to.

She put a finger to his lips.

"You don't have to say it," she whispered. "It's okay. I know."

* * *

~x~X~x~

* * *

The grainy image flickered on the researcher's screen. It was tough to tell when or where this was supposed to be happening through all the static, but the architecture suggested a fantasy landscape, a place that only existed in the mind of the subject.

"Shall we proceed?"

"Let it play out. I want to see how he resolves this."

"Zat iz not important! Ve must get ze system back online before it iz too late. Ve hesitate, ve vill have to start from scratch vis a new subject and ve do not have time or money for zat."

On a nearby table, said subject twitched in his sleep. His eyes rolled behind closed lids and long, dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks.

"Calm your tits, old man. He'll come around."

"Someday, you and me vill fisticuffs."

"You keep sayin' that, but you never actually do it. I think you're all talk."

"Vould you like to meet me outside?"

"Sure, if you don't give a crap if the subject croaks while I'm busy kicking your ass."

The image on the screen grew fuzzy and then dissolved into static. The researcher moved to the subject's bedside and adjusted the electrode attached to the nanocomputer implanted in his scalp. The screen cleared and the researcher watched a teenage version of the subject clasp a pretty, dark-haired girl to his chest while his companions readied themselves for the final fight. He laid his cheek against her hair.

The researcher mimed vomiting and rolled his eyes.

_..I love you..._

The words were inaudible, but plain enough.

"Why am I not surprised? At least he made her pretty."

"He's developed a bond with the system through the microchip," the lead researcher said from the back of the room where she watched on a screen of her own. "From a psychological standpoint, it's quite fascinating. I'd be interested in studying the phenomenon once we bring him back."

"It's pathetic. What kind of idiot falls in love with a computer?"

A red light at the subject's bedside began to pulse and a low alarm sounded. The lead researcher dashed to the monitor and looked up in alarm.

"Blood pressure at 45 over 22. He's crashing, Almasy! We need to bring him out of it, now!"

He checked his own console.

_Upload 74%._

"Can't. Not until the new code finishes loading."

"I said now!"

" _...beep...beep...beeeeep...beepbeep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."_

* * *

~x~X~x~

* * *

….99...98...97...96...

" _Pulse 49 BPM. He's coming around."_

That voice. He knew that voice.

….95...94...93...92...

" _Not too fast. He's been under a long time."_

….91...90...89...88...

" _Pulse up to 55. Blood pressure rising."_

Rinoa. She was here, with him. The battle was over. The fighting was done and he could breathe again.

….87...86...85...84...

A hand ghosted over his forehead and he smiled.

"Rin? Are you there?"

….83...82...81...80...

" _What just happened?"_

" _I don't know. He's crashing! Blood pressure 52 over 40 and falling."_

_....beep...beep...beep...beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..._

* * *

~x~X~x~

* * *

Squall Leonhart opened his eyes and immediately shut them against the glare of too-bright fluorescent lights. His head hurt, his body was leaden, and his muscles were stiff as if he'd been asleep for a long time.

Where was he, and how long had he been here?

Not the infirmary at Garden. He was somewhere else. It didn't smell right. The walls were the wrong color. The light at the window too harsh to be Balamb.

He pushed up on his elbows and squinted at the tubes in his arms. He followed them down to a machine next to the bed, then discovered more tubes crammed into his nostrils.

These, he removed with an easy tug, but the tubes in his arms were connected by catheter and Squall knew better than to rip these out on his own.

Wires sprouted from his head and he explored them with light fingers, his scalp too tender for a more intensive inspection. The wires attached to electrodes, placed strategically along the dome of his head. Two inserted on his forehead and he found a stitched wound on his right temple. His hair was clipped short.

What was this?

"H-hel-lo?"

His voice was hoarse, scratchy, and his throat and mouth were dry as a desert. The sound barely carried beyond the bed. No one would hear him outside the door.

He tried again. Louder this time.

"Hel-lo?"

" _Push the button beside the bed, Loire."_

Loire?

Squall looked around for the source of the voice. To his left was a two-way window, mirrored on his side so he could not see what lay beyond. He would bet whoever was behind it could see him perfectly well.

" _It's on your right. Push the red button to talk."_

He found the device and pressed his thumb against the square button with the shape of lips etched in white.

"Where am I?"

" _Esthar. Where the hell else would you be?"_

Esthar? How did he get back here? The last thing he remembered was Rinoa's smiling face above him, the scent of brine and flowers on the breeze. He should be nowhere near Esthar.

Something must have happened. He'd been wounded and brought here for treatment. That was the most likely explanation.

"Seifer?" he wondered. "That you?"

" _I'm your superior. Since when are we on a first-name basis?"_

Squall blinked at the mirror, dumbfounded.

"What?"

"Hang on, I'm coming in."

Squall dropped back against the pillow and tried to puzzle out what the hell was going on.

There was a beep as the lock disengaged and the door slid open. Seifer Almasy stood in the doorway in a lab coat, a file in his hand, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.

He was older. Much older. Thirty-five or so.

What the hell?

The flesh between his eyes was perfectly smooth, no sign of the scar Squall gave him not so long ago. He reached up and touched his own forehead and found it unmarred beneath his fingertips.

No scar?

"How are you feeling?"

"...whatever."

Seifer snorted and flopped into the chair next to the bed. He opened the file and peered at the pages within.

"Your link-up with Rinoa went haywire 72 hours ago. Do you remember anything?"

"I remember you trying to kill me."

"I saved your life," Seifer said. "The implant overheated, caused a massive system failure within Rinoa's servers and nearly fried your brains inside that thick skull of yours. You died on the table. Twice."

Squall blinked and shook his head.

"What are you talking about?"

Seifer retrieved a small tape recorder from his pocket.

"Note, the patient seems disoriented," he said into the microphone. "Not unexpected under the circumstances."

"What the hell is going on?" Squall asked. "Why am I not at Garden? And why the fuck are you playing doctor?"

"Note, the patient is also agitated," Seifer said. "Seems to believe elements of the hallucinations were real."

"I don't understand," Squall said. " _Where_ is Rinoa? Where are the others?"

"Rinoa's where she's always been. Adorable how you fell in love with her," Seifer said with a soft chuckle. "Seems rather fitting, doesn't it."

This had to be a dream. Or some lingering effect of Time Compression. There was no way in hell Seifer, of all people, was a _doctor_. He had the bedside manner of a belhelmel.

No, this was a hallucination, insanity, a nightmare, whatever. It would pass, and Squall would wake up in the infirmary at Garden, or better, in his dorm room with Rinoa curled up in his arms.

Screw it. He was going home.

Squall reached up and plucked one of the wires off his forehead. The substance used to attach it peeled away and ripped fine hairs from his skin, but he ignored the pain and yanked a second one free. Whatever the hell was happening here, he wanted out of this bed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"...whatever. I'm out of here."

"I don't think so."

Seifer reached over to the machine by the bed, pushed a button. Squall's eyelids grew heavy and his arms flopped onto the mattress at his side.

"Sweet dreams, Loire. Don't worry. It'll come all back to you."

* * *

**~x~X~x~**

* * *

"All right, let's see if we can get you back online," Seifer said. "We equipped you with a new nanocomputer, so I don't foresee any problems."

Squall sat in what he could only compare to a dentist chair under a bright surgical light. All around him were monitors with displays that scrolled data he could not make sense of.

"Any headaches?"

"...no."

He watched Seifer for any sign of the cocky kid he knew, but this version was all geeky scientist with only a dash of his former sarcasm. That did not compute, but so far, nothing else did, either.

"Good," Seifer said and typed something on a nearby console. "She's back up. You should feel the up-link in about thirty seconds."

Squall clenched his hands and watched the bespectacled Seifer move from console to console. The man muttered to himself, cross-checked things on the screens and made notes on his clip board. He did not move like a soldier; the grace Squall remembered so well was gone from his step.

An odd, warm sensation started in Squall's temple, like a hot compress applied to his scalp. Then, a mechanical buzz, a static sound, and a jolt that electrified his very bones. His heart thundered as pure adrenaline flooded his veins, and for a few seconds, it was difficult to draw breath.

"Connection successful. Hello, Squall."

Squall jack-knifed into a sitting position and twisted around to find the source of the voice.

Rinoa. She was here.

"Rin?" he asked aloud. "That you?"

"You gave me a nick-name?"

She sounded delighted. Squall imagined the real Rinoa with her hands clasped below her chin as she bounced on her toes and smiled that warm smile he could not resist. 

"I'm honored," she said. "A nickname shows you are fond of me. If I was capable of fondness, I would be fond of you, too."

Seifer's back was to Squall and he typed furiously into a console, oblivious to her voice.

"My apologies for taking you down with me," she said. "I attempted to disconnect before it could cause you injury, but I was too late. I recognize the signs of overload now, and will take steps to prevent it in the future."

"I don't understand," Squall said.

"She talking to you?" Seifer asked.

"...yeah."

"Good." Seifer made a note on his clip board. "Rinoa, seems like your meltdown affected his memory. Why don't you give him a refresher?"

"Can you hear her?" Squall asked.

"Only if I access your communications, which we generally don't do unless you're in mission mode," Seifer said. "Right now, you're the only one who can hear her."

Squall was comforted by that. He did not want Seifer in his head.

"You may proceed, Rinoa."

Squall leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as tiny beeps sounded inside his head.

"I am Rinoa, otherwise known as the Reactive Intelligence Neural Operating Archive, and I am your personal monitor. I am here to provide you with guidance during missions, up to and including route information, data, intelligence, personnel dossiers, and strategy and tactical information. I can access a vast information bank and will do my best to answer any question you may have," she said. "I am also available to provide counseling, support, and health data. You do not need to speak aloud in order to communicate with me. My processor is linked to your nanocomputer, which can access your thoughts, memories, and physical status."

"Hyne almighty," Squall murmured. "Are you for real?"

"That is all relative," she said. "I do not have a physical body as you do, but I exist in the ephemeral sense and possess a consciousness and the ability to think, reason, and learn."

His skin prickled and he blinked at the too-bright surgical light above.

"Am I dreaming Rin?"

"No. Your brain wave patterns indicate you are awake, though somewhat confused. May I ask the source of this confusion?"

He thought about SeeD and Garden, Edea, Ultimecia, Norg, the battles, the blood, all the sleep lost, his unwilling foray into leadership, Time Compression, all of it, and wondered if what they said was true. Just a hallucination, not a real place or time.

Rinoa laughed softly and Squall was soothed by the sound.

"You have quite the imagination, Squall. It never fails to fascinate me how creative the human brain can be."

"Was it really just a dream?"

"I believe it was the result of your nanocomputer overheating. It must have triggered impulses inside your brain that are similar to those that cause dreams. By the way, I'm flattered that you created such an appealing human image for me."

Squall's stomach clenched and tears sprang to his eyes. Wasn't it real? Wasn't she real? Didn't he fall hopelessly, stupidly, painfully in love with her?

He didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't want answers, he just wanted to go back.

* * *

**~x~X~x~**

* * *

Squall returned to his room, the wires gone from his head and the tubes gone from his arms. The light at the window suggested dusk or dawn. On his bed was a clear plastic bag containing what he assumed were his belongings, and a woman waited in the chair beside the bed.

Her clothes were utilitarian taupe, but the fabric looked expensive, and she wore a strand of creamy pearls at her throat and a matching pair of teardrop shaped earrings.

A familiar face. Not one that brought relief, but only more confusion.

"Raine?"

"I don't think you've ever called me that before."

"That's... It's your name, right?"

"Yes, but you usually call me mom."

Squall's chest ached. No one confirmed whether this was true or not, but he suspected as much. There were hints of it in Ellone's dream magic, and Laguna's friends said he looked like her.

There was so much of himself in Raine's face, her coloring was the same, their eyes were the same shade of blue, and Squall couldn't deny what was right in front of him.

But Raine was dead, and his confusion only deepened.

"You gave us quite the scare," she said. "I thought for sure we'd lost you, too."

Squall blinked at her and perched on the edge of the bed. Maybe, he was dead. Maybe all this was just the workings of a dying brain, the result of synapses misfiring as his organs failed from lack of oxygen.

"How did you get here?"

"Your father drove me, of course," she said. "How else would I get here?"

She slid the chair closer to the bed and grasped his hand. He flinched,wary of uninvited touching.

"I'd ask how you're feeling, but I see the answer is hostile," she said. "Maybe you should stay a little longer, until they're sure you're okay."

"What?"

"Your father is checking you out as we speak."

"...my father?"

Laguna. If Raine was his mother, that meant Laguna was his father.

That explained why Seifer called Squall by Laguna's last name. Sort of.

It sounded strange in his head, like it didn't fit. He knew who Squall Leonhart was, but who the hell was Squall Loire?

"He wasn't pleased about this," she said. "Just letting you know ahead of time, prepare for a lecture."

"He doesn't have the right to lecture me about anything," Squall spat. "He doesn't even know me."

Raine cradled his hand between hers, but there was no affection in her eyes. Not what he expected of the pragmatic but kind woman he knew only from Laguna's memories.

"I know he wasn't around much," she said, "but he does love you, in his own way."

Squall snorted and began to laugh.

This was absurd, talking to his dead mother about his absentee father's feelings about him, or whatever. If he doubted this was a dream before, he was sure now. Whether it was wishful thinking on his part, a secret desire to have a family that brought it on, Squall didn't wish to consider. Dreams were nonsense. Nothing more, and this could not be anything but a dream.

" _Help me out, Rin,"_ he thought.

"Your mother is very much alive, Squall," Rinoa said. "However, my psychology research suggests their absence in the hallucination was your mind's way of excusing their failures as parents. Your father can be quite abrupt and cold, and therefore in the hallucination, he was a charming but inept goofball who only achieved greatness by accident, versus the real one who is ambitious, competent and unscrupulous. Your mother is far more concerned with shopping and her social circle than she is with you. Better a dead mother than an unconcerned one."

Squall blinked and shook his head. If that was accurate, he preferred the tragic, dead mother and the awkward, accidental President to the people Rinoa described.

The door beeped, slid open, and in stepped Laguna Loire. There were more lines on his face, more white in his close-cropped crew cut, and his eyes were hard, intelligent, and unkind. He wore a formal military-style jacket in a dark olive green. Dozens of ribbons and medals decorated the left side and the brass buttons gleamed in the fluorescent light.

"Son."

"Laguna."

"You'll address me as _Sir._ How many times do we have to go over that?"

Raine tensed and let go of Squall's hand. There was something very off about this. Squall was reminded of Rinoa's father in Laguna's posture. He was definitely not the leg-cramping, silly, but likable man in Squall's memory.

"Your father is a general in the Esthar Military. He is highly decorated and he is in charge of the RI-NOA program," Rinoa said. "For all intents and purposes, you work for him and are expected to address him as your commanding officer at all times, up to and including family functions."

The sharp crack of Laguna's palm against Squall's cheek resonated through the room like a gunshot and moisture came to Squall's eyes as pain flared across his skin.

"Don't be insubordinate, boy," he snapped.

Squall's temper flared and he met Laguna's hard stare with one of his own.

" _Sir_ ," Squall said.

"You understand how much this has cost us," Laguna said.

Squall didn't, but he didn't ask what that meant. Maybe, it was best to sit back and observe. Hyne knew, none of it made sense. And if it was a dream, he would eventually wake up. If he was dead, all this would fade and he would find himself either in the afterlife, if it existed, or without a consciousness.

"What happened."

It wasn't a question, it was a demand.

"I don't know," Squall answered. "I have no memory of it."

"Dr. Almasy did say it affected his memory, Laguna," Raine said. "Maybe now isn't the time to push him. Let him recover first."

"Stay out of it, Raine. These matters have nothing to do with you."

Raine dropped her gaze to the floor and folded her hands in her lap.

Squall sat up straighter and cocked his head at his supposed father.

"Don't talk to her that way," he said.

"She's my wife and I can speak to her any way I wish," Laguna said. Something hateful flared in his eyes and Squall was struck by that sense of wrongness again. "As far as you're concerned, Almasy says you successfully reconnected to the network."

Squall shrugged.

"Good. Then it's settled. You'll go back to work tomorrow."

With that, Laguna turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

"What's wrong with him?" Squall asked.

"He's under a lot of pressure..."

"Don't make excuses for him," Squall said.

Raine looked at her watch. "I'm late for a meeting with the Ladies Auxiliary. We should go. We'll drop you at your apartment on the way."

"Does he hit you?" Squall demanded. "Or just me?"

Raine's face went blank. She blinked at him a few times, then rose to her feet.

"I don't know what you mean," she said. "Come along."

Unable to come up with anything else to say, Squall gathered his belongings and followed her from the room.

If the Esthar of his memory was surreal and futuristic, the one that awaited him outside was garish and ugly. Tall, unaesthetic buildings made of steel and glass reached for the heavens, hundreds of stories tall, and each one covered in frame-less, holographic billboards in neon colors that advertised drinks and vacations, clothing and cleaning products, and political campaign platforms. At the bottom of each screen, news text scrolled.

The street was clogged with vehicles that barely moved. Horns blared and people in practical, comfortable-looking utilitarian clothing in bland shades rushed past on the sidewalk, talking into small hand-held devices. Somewhere, a siren blared.

He froze on the sidewalk behind Raine, overwhelmed by too many lights and too much activity. Deling City was a busy town, but there was an order to the chaos. This seemed a free-for-all, a veritable assault on his senses.

"Squall, are you coming? I can't miss this engagement," Raine said.

She led him to a long, black car with dark windows. Laguna was already inside and he spoke angrily to a holographic screen in front of him.

"Request denied," Laguna said.

"But, Sir -"

"Denied, Corporal. We are currently at a deficit. We can not afford to be switching operatives around just because they feel like doing something else."

"He's having black-outs, Sir. He needs down-time or he's going to wind up like -"

"Do not compare my son to a lowly Sergeant. I said request denied. He will stay in the program and complete his objective. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Squall climbed into the car as Laguna hit the button and the screen went dark.

"You'll report to headquarters at oh-six-hundred tomorrow," Laguna said. "Make sure Rinoa gets you up to speed on your progress and your objective. I will not accept memory loss as an excuse for failure."

Squall gritted his teeth and glared at his supposed father. President Loire was a fool, but he was a likable fool. This man, Squall would happily dispatch without remorse.

The vehicle crept through traffic at a snail's pace. Squall could walk faster than this. He wondered what Laguna's reaction would be if he climbed out of the car at the next stoplight and walked to wherever it was they were headed.

Instead, he stared out the window for anything familiar, but all he saw were those obnoxious billboards and thousands of people scurrying like ants along the sidewalk.

Squall noticed her only because she wore sky blue in a sea of gray and beige. There on the corner, her back turned to him in a blue, sleeveless duster with wings on the back. Dark hair spilled down over her shoulders. He sat up straighter and peered through the window, his palm against the glass as the car drew closer.

"Rin?" he whispered.

"Yes? Do you have a question?"

"No. No question."

The girl on the corner turned, her face half in profile and Squall threw the car door open though it was still moving. He bounded up over the curb, heedless of his father's shout, desperate to reach her before the crowd swallowed her up.

She wasn't there.

He spun in a circle, but all around him the colors were washed out and bland. He turned back to the place where she's been and focused on a screen set against the wall of a building. A familiar tune played from the speakers.

_**May 22, ONE NIGHT ONLY. Julia Heartilly, in concert. With special guest!** _

Squall sank to his knees as an image of mother and daughter on stage flashed across the screen.

_**Reserve your tickets today!** _

"Squall? Your vitals indicate you are in distress. What can I do to assist? Do you need medical attention?"

Squall shook his head as hands seized his biceps and hauled him to his feet.

"What in the name of Hyne do you think you're doing?" Laguna demanded. "Get back in the car."

Squall allowed Laguna to drag him back inside the vehicle, but his eyes remained on the screen.

At least he knew she was real.

Or, as real as anybody he encountered so far.


	2. Chapter 2

Laguna and Raine left Squall on the sidewalk outside a twelve-story building made of ugly gray concrete and glass. Here, there were fewer billboards but the effect was still the same. Sound blared from hidden speakers and they all flashed bright, headache-inducing neon colors so garish, Squall found them disorienting. The one above the door advertised a musical called _Loveless_ that seemed to feature half-naked contortionists and acrobats and a nerve-shredding electronic soundtrack.

As he stared at it, someone bumped into him. He jumped away and turned to apologize for loitering but his breath was stolen away by a face he spent weeks committing to memory. An older version of that face, anyway, but still painfully pretty and familiar enough, loved enough, to bring moisture to his eyes.

There was no recognition in her expression, only mild annoyance. She gathered her shopping bag from the sidewalk as Squall struggled to find his voice.

"Not even an apology?" she snapped.

"Sorry," he said automatically, though she had bumped into him.

"...whatever," she said and turned away.

"Wait," Squall said, his heart in his throat. "You don't remember me?"

Her stare was cool. Disinterested.

"Should I?"

This version of Rinoa did not know him. That was obvious.

"Maybe not," he said. "You reminded me of someone."

She rolled her eyes and walked away, and Squall fought the urge to chase her down and make her remember. But he didn't. He stood on the sidewalk, helplessly confused and overwhelmed by this alien place and these people who were essentially opposites of those he knew.

Something flickered behind his eyes, like the static of a screen afflicted by Adel's entombment. He closed his eyes against it, but the fuzz only grew worse, and for just a fraction of a second, he saw Rinoa under a bruised sky, a smear of blood on her cheek. When he opened them, the image was gone, and so was the woman who looked like an older version of her.

He shook it off and climbed the steps of the apartment building, unsure of where to go, where his keys were, or what his apartment number was. He tried the door, but it was locked. A quick search of his belongings revealed no key or keycard to permit entry.

"Use the thumb pad to your right," Rinoa said.

A small device was set in the wall with a pad only slightly larger than a postage stamp. He laid his thumb against it and something behind him clicked.

The door slid open to reveal a stark lobby of dark granite. There were no embellishments or adornments to make the space welcoming, only an elevator and an display panel that listed names and numbers.

He found his own name among them, _Loire, S. 1105._

The elevator required another thumb scan to enter and Squall dutifully pressed his thumb against the pad. The doors opened and he stepped inside and reached for the bank of buttons to select the correct floor and found none.

The doors closed behind him and the lift began to move. In seconds the doors opened again and he stepped into a long hallway with white walls and a dark gray tile floor.

"Your apartment is to the left," Rinoa supplied.

He found apartment 1105 without difficulty and was required to submit his entire hand for verification this time. Scan complete, the door opened to admit him.

The apartment was sparse and small, with almost no hint of the life he lived here. No personal effects, save a framed photograph of himself with Ellone when they were very young. It sat on a bookshelf among dozens of dry-sounding non-fiction titles.

The back wall was entirely glass and offered an unappealing view of the city. The narrow balcony beyond the door was bare of any furniture. The kitchen was functional, with stainless steel appliances and limited cabinet space. A computer desk with three monitors and a rather large processing unit dominated the living room, where a modern and uncomfortable looking couch faced another screen set into the wall. The bedroom contained a queen sized bed with gray linens, a black lacquer dresser, and an over-sized lounge chair with a book open on the arm rest.

He investigated the closet and found the same utilitarian clothing he'd seen outside, in the same bland shades of gray and brown, along with tactical style uniforms in black. There were also a few items of women's clothing, most of it formal wear, including a scarlet-colored gown and a pair of matching beaded heels. Who those belonged to, Squall did not want to speculate.

When his stomach rumbled, he returned to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Inside, pre-made meals were stacked neatly on the shelves, organized by content. Curious, he inspected one labeled _tofu stir-fry_ and was unable to identify any specific ingredient beneath the plastic cover.

The label said it provided all the essential vitamins and nutrients, was low in sodium and carbohydrates, and high in protein and dietary fiber. Healthy and easy to prepare, and custom made by Raijin's Catering, specifically for Squall's personal nutritional needs. Calorie content: 450.

That was good enough for Squall, but he pondered the name of the caterer.

He followed the instructions on the package and inserted it into a slot in a square machine on the counter and pushed the start button. Less than ten seconds later, the machine beeped and the meal was ejected, hot and ready to eat.

Neat. And rather convenient.

Squall set it aside and searched the drawers for silverware and found only disposable, individually wrapped utensils made of biodegradable material. There were no plates in the cupboards, nor any pots or pans. In fact, the only non-disposable kitchenware he found was a ceramic mug with a military logo on it, and a set of beer and wine glasses. Either Other-Squall planned to move on soon without having to bother with a lot of possessions, or this was the standard of living in this world.

He filled a beer glass with water from the tap on the refrigerator and then sat down at a small glass table with seating for two.

The food was not great. The texture was strange and there wasn't much flavor. Not that Squall cared one way or another. Students who had not grown up at Garden, the ones with families and home-cooked meals, they always said with the exception of the hot dogs, Garden's Cafeteria left something to be desired. Squall could never tell. It was what he knew, it was what he'd grown up with, and food was food.

He disposed of the meal packaging in a chute located under the sink, after consulting Rin about the location of a trash can.

"You really have forgotten everything," she said. "Poor baby. Don't worry. I do not require sleep, and I am available to you twenty-four hours a day. You can ask me anything you wish."

Squall glanced around the apartment, struck again by its lack of personality.

"How long have I lived here?"

"Thirteen months and twelve days," she said.

"Why does it look like this?" he asked as he inspected the living room a little closer.

There were no paintings or pictures on the walls, no potted plants, no nic-nacs, or anything else that said this was the home of Squall Loire. Not that his dorm back at Garden broadcast anything about his personality, either, but he expected more.

"Estharian Special Operatives are encouraged to maintain a minimalist lifestyle," she said. "They can be deployed at any time and are often allowed only one bag of personal belongings. Accommodations are provided by the government."

"So nothing here belongs to me."

"Just the personal things."

He was not one to keep things for sentimental reasons, and SeeDs were discouraged from it as well, but the thought depressed him. Other-Squall had no more of an identity than Squall himself did.

"You should bathe," she said, "then I'll get you up to speed on your current objectives."

He sniffed the hem of his shirt and caught a whiff of antiseptic and stale hospital air. She was right. A shower was definitely overdue.

It was less strange to be ordered to shower by a computer than it should have been. Already, he'd grown comfortable and dependent on her for direction and information. He wasn't sure if that was a sign he was slowly descending into madness, or if he was just adapting to the circumstances. 

He stepped into the bathroom he had yet to investigate, and he was confronted with his reflection as soon as the light switched on.

Other-Squall stared back at him, a man of approximately thirty-five who was at once handsome and horrific.

The scar Seifer gave him was not there, but others were. The claws of some beast had savaged the left side of his face and left pale, puckered trenches in his skin from hairline to chin. The iris of his left eye was not blue but a frosty white, as if the attack left him blind.

A half-inch of stubble covered his jaw and his hair was clipped to the scalp. The frown-lines in his forehead were deeper and the beginnings of crows feet formed at the corners of his eyes. His chest and shoulders were broader and more muscular, and it seemed he'd grown three inches overnight.

Squall didn't know what to think, or how to feel. If the reflection could be believed, he somehow lost seventeen years of his life while asleep and woke up a different man.

The shower was another technological puzzle to solve, with a plethora of buttons to choose from instead of the standard knob or two. He stared at the panel in confusion until Rinoa chimed in.

"Hit the bottom left button for pre-sets," she said. "Then use the arrow key to select the third option. It's your favorite."

The water came on and Squall stepped under the stream. It was the perfect temperature, and the pressure was just right.

"How did you know that?"

"I keep a database of your habits and preferences," she said. "So that I'm better able to serve you."

"What does my water pressure preferences have to do with anything?" he asked.

"Well, I do believe that information came in handy just now," she said. "But, I also use it to monitor your mental and physical health. Even the smallest changes in habits may indicate a problem."

Squall looked around for the soap and found none.

"Soap?" Rin asked. "No one has used soap in more than fifty years, Squall."

"So... how am I supposed to get clean?"

"The water is treated with a special type of bacteria that eats away dead skin cells, dirt, and oils," she said. "More biologically and environmentally responsible than the caustic chemicals in found in traditional surfactants."

Squall cringed at the thought of his body crawling with bacteria, devouring not just dead skin cells and oil, but feasting on his flesh, too.

Rinoa laughed. "I do enjoy your imagination, Squall. But there is no danger. Flesh-eating bacteria was eradicated long ago through antibiotics and stringent water purification standards. You have nothing to fear."

That did not ease his concerns.

"Do I at least have a wash-cloth to scrub with?"

"There's no need," she said. "The bacteria acts as a natural exfoliant."

Squall decided he was done and hit a button with a red line through it. The water stopped and he stepped out, only to discover there were no towels.

"Get back in and press the button that looks like a gust of wind," she said.

"Is it full of bacteria that drinks up the excess water?" he asked.

"Of course not, silly," she said. "Get in. The big, bad bacteria won't get you."

That sounded a lot more like the Rinoa he knew. His gut clenched with longing.

Hyne. It had to be real and all this just a strange dream. His memories weren't really all just hallucinations and lies. This place was the lie. 

He stepped back into the shower and pushed the button. A blast of air hit his body from all directions and left him feeling like he'd just been violently attacked by Pandemona.

Clean, dry and dressed in comfortable scrub-like pants and a t-shirt, Squall sat down before the computer in the living room and switched it on at Rinoa's request.

A map of Esthar filled the screen. Instead of the strange, spider-like road system he remembered, it appeared a grid. Streets ran north to south, east to west without deviation. In the center of the city was a large government complex that engulfed several blocks in all directions.

"The city underground is currently under siege by an entity known as Adel," she said. "Currently, we have the situation under control, however Adel and its army are laying siege to the framework on which this city stands."

She rotated the map to show a complicated series of tunnels underneath the city with multiple levels. The top two were clear, but the ones below swarmed with ghostly shapes that moved through strange, twisted corridors. Some of the entities were small and compact, some winged, others seemed to have extra appendages, and others were long and serpentine.

They looked like the monsters from his world. If they were merely fighting a monster invasion, then Squall was confident he would not find himself out of his depth.

"The hive beneath the city grows larger by the day. The tunnels you see are Adel's army attempting to breach the surface," she said. "So far, no approach we've tried has come close to eliminating the threat. The more we kill, the more there are, as if the death of one spawns three more."

"So what's my objective?" he asked.

"You're to eliminate Adel, of course," she said. "By any means necessary, and no matter the cost. Your father is growing frustrated with the lack of progress. The more they grow in number, the greater threat to the city. It's only a matter of time before they can no longer be contained."

If nothing worked so far, and their only defense was monster raids, Squall doubted there were any other options besides to bomb the crap out of the hive and be done with it.

"That is not a viable option," Rinoa said. "To do so would cause the city to collapse in on itself. As it is, these things are eating away at the substrate as they attempt to dig new tunnels."

"So, basically, he expects me to sacrifice myself," he said.

"Your father believes there is no greater honor than to die in battle."

Squall thought of the way Laguna cuffed him earlier.

"Yet he's still alive," Squall said. "I assume he's seen battle in his time."

"More than most."

"What is my current rank?" he asked. "And how do the other members of my team see me?"

It wasn't a question he ever dared ask anyone before, though as he'd confessed to an unconscious Rinoa on the Horizon Bridge, it _did_ matter. Much more than he ever let on. Especially now, walking into unknown territory among people he didn't know.

"Your are a Major," she said. "My analysis shows you are well respected among your team, however, they feel you play fast and loose, take unnecessary risks, and that perhaps you do not value their lives."

Squall sat back in his chair and bit down on his thumbnail, a habit he broke long ago and surfaced only when he was stressed. She'd just described Seifer. 

"Get me dossiers on my crew," he said. "I want to know their talents, skills, their accomplishments. As much as you can get me. And leave that map on the screen."

"There's the Squall I know," Rinoa said, and Squall would have sworn there was a smile in her voice.

He spent the next two hours going over the information Rinoa provided him. The only familiar name on the roster was Zell Dincht, but the dossier told him nothing except that Dincht was proficient and accurate with his weapon, he was Squall's second, and that he was a test subject in a program similar to the RI-NOA project. There was nothing in Dincht's personnel files that told Squall if he would find a friend tomorrow or not.

He sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head pounded, not in a painful way, but still he felt the throb of his pulse in his temple and forehead.

The computer screen flickered, and for a second, an image of Rinoa, the real one, was superimposed over the map of Esthar's underground.

He sat up and reached for the screen, but the second his fingers touched it, the image disappeared.

"Am I losing my mind?" he asked aloud.

"Just a lingering effect of the system shut-down," Rinoa said. "It should pass in a few days."

The front door dinged and slid open. Squall whipped around, on guard and faced the intruder.

Quistis, dressed in breezy, wide-legged gray pants and a darker gray tunic sauntered in, her heeled shoes a sharp staccato against the tile floor, and she smiled a broad, crimson-lipped smile.

"Guess who just landed a part in _I Want To Be Your Canary_?" she asked. "Me! That's who!"

She dropped her handbag on the kitchen counter, laid a black garment bag over the back of a chair and sauntered into the kitchen like she lived there. Squall stayed silent and braced himself for more weirdness as she opened the refrigerator and produced a bottle of wine Squall did not notice before. She uncapped it and poured two glasses, and as Squall stood, she beamed at him.

"I'm so excited," she said. "It's not the lead, and I don't get a singing part, but it's a step up from low-budget horror, don't you think?"

"Help me out here, Rin?" he thought.

"Quistis Trepe, actress and former model. Can't sing to save her life, no matter what she tells you. She's regularly cast for supporting roles in Fury Caraway's films."

Caraway was a filmmaker in this world? What was next? Instructor Aki as a rodeo clown? 

"Caraway's films are low budget and on the whole, not well received by critics, though they do have something of a cult following that celebrates how terrible they are," Rinoa said. "Quistis is quite proud of the fact that she has died on screen 18 times, but also quite frustrated that she's been type-cast as a scream queen. She's currently on a mission to change her image and be seen as a serious actress."

Dumbfounded, Squall stared at his former instructor and more recent friend as she crossed the room, handed him a glass of wine, and kissed his lips.

Squall jumped back and his wine sloshed in its glass.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm not allowed to kiss my fiancee?" she asked with a put-on pout.

"Is she not aware I was hospitalized?" Squall thought at Rinoa. "And... _Fiancee_? What the hell?"

"She likes to call herself that, but you have not yet proposed," Rinoa answered. "And no, she was not informed of the situation. As far as she knows, you were on a mission."

"Are we...?"

"Intimate? Yes," Rinoa said. "For several years now."

Squall's face flamed. Though Quistis was stunning, not once had he seen her as more than a fellow cadet and superior. To think that Other-Squall and Quistis were...

No. He would not even entertain such a thought. He could barely handle thinking about Rinoa that way. Just allowing her to sit in his lap aboard the Ragnarok was a massive leap forward for a guy who kept everyone in his life at arm's length and found all forms of intimacy terrifying.

"Is it serious?"

"I would call it mutually beneficial."

"In what way?"

"It seems mostly physical, on your part," Rinoa said. "I have not detected the typical brain chemical response associated with fondness and love when the two of you spend time together. I can not speak for her other than to say, you often act as a bodyguard in social situations, as well as a date."

"Squall? Are you paying attention?" Quistis said.

"Sorry. Long couple of days," he said. "Worn out."

He set his wine glass on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest to bar any further attempts to get too close.

Quistis ignored his closed posture and her fingertips skimmed the stitches on the side of his head.

"What happened?"

"Nothing to be concerned about," he said. "It'll heal."

"You'd think you have enough scars by now," she said. "You should tell your father you want a desk job."

"Have you met my father?" he asked, though he'd only just met Laguna Lorie himself. 

Quistis ignored his comment and reached out to touch the stitches again. Squall jerked away. 

"I just hate the idea of you out there, fighting and getting shot at," she said. "I worry."

"Don't," he said. "Anyway, I have a lot of work to do, so..."

"Absolutely not! You will not do this to me tonight," she said. "We have VIP tickets to Julia Heartilly's show, remember? Fury gave them to me months ago."

Squall didn't want to go with Quistis, but he would not miss an opportunity to see Rinoa. He checked the date on the computer screen. Three days before the mother-daughter showcase he'd seen on the billboard.

"You have tickets to a small, private showing," Rinoa said. "Julia Heartilly's daughter, Lenora is not scheduled to appear."

Lenora? That wasn't right, but so far, nothing about this new world was.

"Go get dressed, mister," Quistis said and swatted his backside. "You promised me dinner, too."

Unable to come up with an excuse to beg off, and with a flutter of anticipation in his chest, Squall agreed.

Perhaps Rinoa would be there. Or perhaps, Lenora was someone else entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

Squall tugged on the collar of his suit as he escorted Quistis inside the tiny hotel bar and took note of how everyone stared. Not at him, but at Quistis in her slinky plum silk gown, slit thigh-high to reveal more skin than the Quistis he knew would be comfortable showing.

She moved through the small crowd, tall and confident, a sensual sway to her hips and a starlet smile on her crimson lips. Squall felt like he was just along for the ride. No one looked at him, not that he minded, and if they happened to glance at him, their gazes lingered only a moment before they turned away in shame or disgust.

The scars. He'd forgotten about the scars. The eye.

Squall didn't like the way men looked at Quistis. Back at Garden, he'd been peripherally aware of the Trepies and their obsessive worship of their favorite instructor, but this was different. He hated the naked lust in the eyes of her admirers. Their undisguised want felt like a threat. The Quistis he knew could easily subdue anyone who became too friendly without his help, but what about this version of her?

“Quistis has no combat training,” Rinoa chimed in. “Unless you count fight choreography for film.”

He understood now why he'd taken on the role of bodyguard. A woman who looked the way Quistis did, one with minor fame and notoriety, who didn't know how to defend herself was a target for predators and stalkers. He stepped closer. They might not be close friends, not in this world or in his, but his respect for the latter ensured the former would be kept safe.

The bar's interior was upscale – all polished wood and brass, leather and crystal, and the air was perfumed with cigar smoke and spice.

Out on the street, people dressed in bland, utilitarian clothing, but in here, they wore their finest silks and suits in colors he'd yet to see otherwise. Quistis fit right in, her dress one more jewel tone among a rainbow of others.

Squall couldn't have felt more out of place. He was trained to deal with these sort of environments, but it made him think of Rinoa. Of how they met at a similarly formal event. How it was all over for him in the space of ten seconds, all because they both happened to catch the same dying star in the night sky.

“Quistis! Darling!” a man shouted as he approached. “You look lovely, as always! Come, come! I have so much to tell you!”

Squall held back his surprise at the man's appearance. He, too was familiar.

The stoic, cold Caraway in Squall's memory was steely-eyed and formidable. This Caraway was slightly overweight, wore a scruffy salt-and pepper beard, his hair long and artfully unkempt. He alone was dressed casually, in clothing Squall almost recognized. Denim overalls, a plaid shirt, like a chocobo farmer, and a purple beret cocked at a jaunty angle atop his head.

Squall imagined his counterpart would die of shame if he could see himself now.

The warmth in Caraway's eyes for Quistis was startling. Squall couldn't recall him looking at his own daughter with that much affection.

The pair exchanged air kisses and murmured compliments to one another before Caraway greeted Squall with an overly-friendly hug and a hard slap between the shoulders.

“Still fighting the good fight, my boy?” Caraway asked.

Squall answered with a noncommittal shrug. Caraway seemed taken aback.

“He just came off a mission. Looks like it was a bad one,” Quistis explained as if Squall was not there. “I'm afraid I've forced him to come out tonight.”

“Got a little roughed up, eh?” Caraway said and slapped his arm a little too hard. “Let me buy you a drink, soldier, while I monopolize your fiancee and try to convince her to star in my latest epic! Quisty, you'd love this script. I read it and pictured you in the lead! No one else will do! See, the heroine is a crime fighting monster hunter with a bounty on her head, but the whole thing takes place in outer space...”

Caraway took Quistis by the arm and led her away, toward the far end of the bar, the drink he promised Squall already forgotten. Squall trailed behind, still too confused to make any sense of this strange world around him. Everything was upside down, like he'd landed smack in the middle of a childhood game of Opposite Day.

He chose a spot a short distance away from Quistis and Caraway. Close enough to intervene if anyone became aggressive but far enough away he couldn't hear their conversation.

“Any special instructions for ordering a drink?” Squall asked Rinoa. “How do I pay?”

He'd noticed wallets were not a thing here. No credit cards, no cash, no photo ID.

“Thumb print scan,” she said. “The cost will be deducted automatically from your account.”

“So, no cash or anything?”

“Esthar has not used cash in thirty years,” Rinoa said. “The landscape does not support the kind of farming needed to produce textiles like paper products or linen fiber. Traditional bank notes have collector value only.”

“Then everything is electronic?”

“Correct. With the exception of books,” she said. “Printed books are still preferred over digital editions, though they're now mass-produced on recycled plastic fibers, making them far more durable than paper.”

Squall shot a glance at Quistis and Caraway, where the two sat close together, conspiring like thieves, and flagged down the bartender.

“The usual, Major Loire?” he asked.

The usual? He'd been here often enough to be remembered?

“Gin and tonic, with an extra lime,” Rinoa supplied.

Squall had no idea what that tasted like. His experience with alcohol was limited to the champagne offered at Garden functions and beer, which he'd only had once, when he was fifteen. He drank it on a dare from Seifer.

A six pack between them, confiscated by the Disciplinary Committee from a pair of 13-year-old cadets who had stolen it from an older sibling in Balamb.

Whoever chugged their share fastest won. It didn't end well. For either of them.

“The usual,” he echoed back to the bartender.

As he waited for his drink, someone slid into the space beside him, forearms pressed to the gleaming wood bar and her face hidden by a cascade of dark hair. Squall's instincts identified her well before he saw her face.

“Rin?” he asked softly.

“Lenora Heartilly,” Rinoa supplied. “Daughter of -”

“I remember,” he said.

The woman turned toward him and Squall stopped breathing.

_Remember me. Please, remember me._

Rinoa, a few years older, but still so familiar his eyes misted over. She stared at him with unflinching brown eyes, a vision in sapphire silk. There was recognition this time, but the look she gave him was so full of loathing, Squall was left speechless.

“Loire,” she greeted in a flat, unfriendly tone.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi?” she echoed. Her scowl turned mean. "You're actually speaking to me now?”

The bartender placed his drink before him, the glass shimmering with bubbles in the dim amber light.

What did he want? He wanted her to smile at him, for her eyes to crinkle at the corners, for her to laugh at his awkwardness and discomfort.

“Did I do something wrong?' he asked.

“Do you want me to make a list? A spreadsheet? Or maybe just give you the bullet points?”

Squall blinked in confusion.

Lenora looked past him, to Quistis and Caraway at the end of the bar. They sat too close together, in Squall's opinion. Caraway's smile was toothy and flirtatious.

“In public, too,” Lenora-Rinoa spat. “I'm not sure which is worse. Your girlfriend, your father, or you, for pretending like nothing's wrong.”

“What?” Squall asked. “I'm not sure I understand.”

“Please,” she said. “Just spare me the innocent act. It doesn't suit you.”

_A little help here, Rin?_

“Though not confirmed, there are rumors that Quistis and Caraway are romantically involved,” Rinoa said.

_What does my father have to do with that?_

“Your father and Julia Heartilly-Caraway have been having an affair off and on for a number of years,” Rinoa said. “They make no secret of it. Lenora is understandably bitter."

Squall sipped his drink and processed that. The drink was sour and fragrant, but not in an unpleasant way.

“Why do you blame me?” he asked Lenora. “I'm not my father.”

“How can you look at yourself in the mirror?” she asked. “After what they've done to us? How do you justify it?”

Even more confused now, Squall watched her in the mirror behind the bar. Her eyes flashed with anger. Her mouth twisted in a hateful scowl.

“I don't know why I bother,” she said. “You're not going to listen, anyway. You just keep lying to yourself, okay? I'll find answers on my own.”

She pushed away from the bar and ran right into a tall bespectacled man with a long, familiar face. His hands steadied her and he smiled sweetly as he drew her closer. 

He looked strange without the long hair and cowboy hat. His hair was clipped short and slicked back, his suit expensive and well tailored. Diamond cuff links shimmered at his wrists. He looked not like the easy-going sharpshooter everyone hated to love, but like an uptight accountant who pulled in a big salary and rarely saw daylight.

“Is everything alright, Norie?” Irvine asked.

“It's fine,” she said. “Let's go find our seats, Irvy.”

Squall's stomach twisted. Irvy?

He watched them leave in the mirror, Irvine's hand on the small of Lenora's back. Squall felt sick.

Though Irvine had grown on her, Rinoa had disliked him in the beginning. They all had. While Irvine proved himself more than just a horny loner with questionable fashion sense and too many guns, imagining the two of them in a romantic relationship, in this world or his own, was laughable.

“Lenore and Irvine have been friends since childhood,” Rinoa informed him.

“Are they romantically involved?”

“Undetermined,” Rinoa said.

From the way Irvine pulled out her chair and took every opportunity to touch her suggested at least one of them had romantic feelings for the other. Lenora did not reciprocate, but she didn't stop him either.

When he turned his attention back to Quistis, she was gone, and so was Caraway. To find their seats, he assumed, but a quick scan of the seating area proved him wrong. The only familiar faces in the small crowd were Lenora and Irvine.

He blinked, and for a split second, every face in the crowd looked like Rinoa. All of them dressed in cream satin, smiling from across a crowded ballroom floor. 

The lights dimmed and the dull roar of conversation died down to a soft chorus of whispers. Every pair of eyes in the room were on the stage.

A slender woman clad in crimson velvet and dangerously high heels strode across the stage to a round of applause and whistles. She waved and bowed with a big, broad smile before she seated herself before a grand piano.

Lenora did not clap. Her eyes were fixed on her mother, her gaze as hard and steely as her other-world father's. Irvine slipped his hand into hers and held on.

Squall nursed his drink through the six-song show. None of the songs were familiar, but he could understand what had captivated a young Laguna Loire so many years ago. Squall wasn't one to pay much attention to music, especially not jazz. At best, it was background noise to filter out other, more distracting sounds but he couldn't deny Julia Heartilly-Caraway's talent.

It wasn't just that, he supposed, as he observed the woman on stage. She had charisma and presence and a natural, unpretentious showmanship that kept everyone's attention.

Near the end of the set, Squall noticed a shadow standing just beyond the curtains of the stage. On alert, he slid off the bar stool and slipped through a small curtained entrance that led backstage.

There was a short hallway with doors on the right, another curtained opening on his left. From behind one of the doors, he heard Quistis' laughter and Caraway's low voice. For a second, he stood in front of it, wondering what was going on in there, but he was more worried about the man in the shadows on stage.

He slipped into the backstage area on silent feet, careful not to trip over cables or run into crates until he reached the edge of the lighted stage. Directly across from him, standing between two curtains, his father watched Juila's performance with a soft but rapt expression on his face.

Squall thought of Raine's indifference and stacked it against this. It explained a lot. Or nothing at all.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he turned away to return to the bar. It was shitty, but not his business.

Lenora stood in the hall, glaring hate at the closed door, behind which Quistis giggled and Caraway laughed.

“It's not my fault,” Squall said. “It's not your fault, either.”

Lenora turned around, no longer angry, but weary.

“They're adults,” Squall said. “They can do what they want. It doesn't have anything to do with us.”

Lenora just looked at him.

“What did you mean by answers?” he asked. "What answers were you looking for?"

“Don't tell me you haven't been asking yourself what really happened to your sister,” she said.

“My sister?” Squall wondered aloud.

“Classified,” Rinoa said automatically. “You don't have clearance to access that information.”

Well.

That was not what he expected to hear.

“I have a sister too, you know,” she said. “She was military, like yours. Killed in the line of duty. So they said. Except, she never went down into the trenches. She was part of a special project. It was supposed to be all intel. She said she sat at a computer and pulled data. So tell me, how does someone who humps a desk all day die in the line of duty?”

Squall waited for Rinoa to supply the needed information.

“I'm sorry, Squall,” Rinoa said. “That is also classified.”

He didn't understand any of this. Not what she was saying, or what was really happening here, or how any of this could be anything more than some strange dream.

Maybe Lenora could give him the answers he needed. If he asked the right questions.

“Your sister was intel, too,” Lenora said. “Wasn't she?”

Squall wasn't sure, and Rinoa didn't respond to his inquiry. He found that odd, that she'd be so forthcoming with information until now. What secrets were they hiding?

“What does that have to do with everything else?” Squall asked.

“Hyne, you're really in denial aren't you?” she said. “Your father is a piece of shit, your girlfriend has her sights set on my dad, and you just stick your head in the sand and act like none of it matters.”

“Last time I checked, it takes two to have an affair,” Squall retorted. “And I still fail to see why you blame me for our parents choices.”

“What about Quistis?”

“What about her?” Squall asked. “I'm not her boss.”

“So, it's perfectly okay for her to do what she's doing right now?” Lenora asked.

“Whatever,” Squall said. “It's not my business. Or yours.”

Her mouth collapsed and she leaned against the wall across from him.

“Is this really about them?” Squall asked. “Or something else?”

“Everything,” she said. “It's all of it. The lies, the secrets... everything.”

Squall stepped closer and inspected her face. Now that he could see her in better lighting, he wasn't so sure she was Rinoa. A very convincing copy, but something was off. What it was, he couldn't put his finger on, but now he was sure Lenora was not an older Rinoa with a different name. She was someone else entirely.

“Can we... start over?” he asked. “Forget whatever our parents are up to, and whatever has you so pissed at me and... maybe get a drink and talk?”

It was the most forward Squall had ever been with anyone. He hadn't even managed to ask Rinoa on a date. Not that there was much time for that, especially not in those final days of preparation. After, once the dust settled, he might have worked up the courage to ask her to dinner. If she didn't ask first. 

If he ever got back home, it would be the first thing he did. 

“Fine, but not here. There's a diner around the corner,” Lenora said. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.”

* * *

**x~X~x**

* * *

Squall left the bar unnoticed and walked the short distance to the diner Lenora mentioned. It was clean, but old, with chrome fixtures, red vinyl and white tile, and all but empty except for a lone woman in a booth at the back, a waitress, and a cook.

He chose the last booth by the window, his back to the wall, and ordered a black coffee.

“Just you, hon?” the waitress asked. She looked suspiciously like one of the cafeteria ladies.

“Someone's joining me,” he said.

“Menu?”

“Please.”

He kept his eyes on the sidewalk outside, eager to learn more about whatever was going on. Maybe she was the key to figuring all this out. He wanted to go home, back to his life as it was. This world was too different and too ugly and confusing to be somewhere he actually belonged.

Lenora arrived unaccompanied and slipped into the booth across from him. She picked up the menu and perused it as if she planned to order something. When the waitress approached, she asked for black coffee and blueberry waffles. Squall settled on buttered toast.

“My sister was intel,” Squall said, though he didn't know anything about Other-Ellone. “Did they work together?”

“Not as far as I know, but I think they were on the same project.”

“What project was that?”

“She said it was classified, but I think it had to do with some kind of AI – Operative interface. She mentioned something about a surgical implant once.”

Like the one in his head? Or something else?

“What did she say?”

“Not much, but she was scared. And then she disappeared.”

“Killed in the line of duty," he echoed.

“It's all a lie,” Lenora said. “I know it.”

“How?”

“Because they said the same thing about your sister,” she said. “There was no body. No funeral. Then everybody acted like she never existed in the first place. Just like my parents pretend Rinoa never existed. Like she's just some figment of my imagination.”

Squall's heart jumped in his chest. That couldn't be a coincidence.

“Rinoa?” he asked. “Her name was Rinoa?”

His throat got tight. RI-NOA.

_Rin? Explain?_

She didn't answer. Not right away.

“...RI-NOA is an acronym for the Reactive Intelligence Neural Operating Archive,” Rinoa said automatically. “Any similarity to a living or deceased person is pure coincidence.”

_Is it?_

“Yes. I am merely an intelligent database from which you can access information at any time. That is my purpose and function.”

_Then tell me about Rinoa and Ellone._

“That information is classified.”

His temple began to burn and his head filled with a static buzzing sound. Pain shot through the back of his skull and his vision started to blur.

“My diagnostics indicate you are in distress. Please discontinue this line of questioning or you are at risk of causing damage to both yourself and the implant.”

Squall closed his eyes and took a slow breath. He thought of _his_ Rinoa the night of the concert in FH, dressed up, full of wisdom and good-natured teasing at his expense.

He should have danced with her. He should have let down his guard and allowed her in, instead of trying so hard to push her away. He wanted to. He could deny it all he liked. He'd wanted her to break down the wall and force him outside his lonely, insulated world.

When he opened his eyes, Lenora was staring at him over a plate of waffles. They were Caraway's shrewd eyes, not Rinoa's.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said.

“Tell me about Ellone.”

“You know as much as I do,” Squall said.

“Did you care about her?”

“Very much,” he said, but it was Sis he was thinking about, not whatever version of her that inhabited this world. “For a long time, she was my only family.”

“With a father like yours, I can understand why you'd feel that way.”

She took a bite of the waffles and sighed contentedly.

“You should try these. Best in town.”

Squall was tempted, but Rinoa cut in.

“Those are not approved, Squall.”

_My diet is monitored?_

“Yes. Down to the calorie, with allowances built in for alcohol or food in social situations. You have reached your intake limit for the day.”

He looked at the waffles. Lenora pushed the plate toward him.

To hell with it. He picked up his fork and cut off a small section.

Took a bite.

It was heavenly. The combination of syrup and butter and sweet, fruity bread tasted like breakfasts at Ma Dincht's place, as rare as those had been. It was like a slice of home. A home he desperately missed.

“There will be consequences,” Rinoa said.

_Do your worst. I don't care._

Then, out of pure spite, he ordered himself blueberry waffles with a serving of bacon on the side.

* * *

**x~X~x**

* * *

  
Squall didn't learn much more about whatever might be going on, only that Lenora was a musician by trade, mostly due to her mother's fame, but she didn't love it. She wanted to write and travel the world but was obligated to produce at least two albums to fulfill her contract. None of her work so far was as well received as her mother's, and she claimed to be glad for that.

“What does your boyfriend do?” Squall asked.

“He's an IT contractor,” she said. “He's working for the military now. And he's not my boyfriend.”

_But he wants to be._

“You two seemed close.”

“We are, to a degree,” she said. “He thinks I've lost my mind, though. Says I'm sticking my nose where it doesn't belong.”

“Think he knows something we don't?”

“Maybe,” she said. “If he does, he's not talking.”

“So what do we do?” he asked. He wanted to go home, but maybe going home involved finding answers here. “If this is all we have to go on?”

“You're the one with all the contacts,” she said. “Access to information. Start digging.”

“Easier said than done,” Squall said. “I don't have clearance to get that information.”

“You seem smarter than your average grunt, Major Loire. Get creative.”

Squall snorted and finished the dregs of his coffee.

“I'll do what I can,” he said. “No promises.”

“All I really need to know is what happened to her,” Lenora said. “That's all.”

“What if what happened was something bad?”

“Then I'll make sure whoever is responsible pays for it,” she said.

“How?”

“I have my ways,” she said cryptically.

If it was the real Rinoa saying this to him, Squall would have laughed, but there was something cold and dangerous in her eyes that told him there was a lot more to her than a budding writer with some baggage.

“Okay,” he said and checked the time on the wall. “It's late, and I have to report early.”

“Alright,” she said. “I'm glad we were finally able to sit down and talk about this. Can I ask you what changed your mind?”

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “Maybe because there are a lot of things I don't understand and I want to.”

“Makes two of us,” she said. She gathered her handbag from the seat and stood up. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Where can I find you?”

“I'll find you first,” she said.

She walked away from the table, the skirt of her sapphire gown a blaze of color against white and chrome. Squall stayed where he was and considered what to do next.

“Now would be a really good time for an info dump, Rin.”

“I'm sorry. I cannot access those files for you.”

“So you said.”

Lenora stepped outside and Squall followed her progress down the sidewalk through the glass window. So fixated on her departure he was that he didn't notice the woman slip silently into the booth across from him until she cleared her throat and kicked his shin under the table.

“Fujin?” he asked. In this world, she wore an eye-patch, too. Her hair was longer and fell to the middle of her back in a long, pale braid. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Squall.”

“What... what do you want?”

“I wouldn't ask too many questions if I were you,” she said. “You're not going to like the answers.”

“What the hell is going on?” he asked.

She took out a device and laid it on the table. An image of himself with Lenora in the hallway backstage filled the screen.

“You should be more careful. People who ask too many questions have a way of disappearing.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A reminder,” she said and pushed the button again.

On screen, Lenora left the diner alone, her pace full of purpose and her chin held high. Out of the darkness stepped a figure in black that seized her from behind. A hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she vanished as she was dragged into the shadowy alleyway.

Squall shot to his feet and bolted for the door.

She might not be Rinoa, but that didn't stop him from wanting to save her. She was his only hope of uncovering what he was doing here.

Without her, he might never find the real Rinoa.

Or his way home again.


End file.
